“It’s all off!” was the thought that flashed through his mind. “I am now obliged to put up a game of bluff.” The screams of the two women were now mingled with the furious barking of the bloodhound, and Vic Clayton was shouting affrightedly: “Come out here! Come out here, Amos! There’s something the matter with this dog. I think he has gone mad.” Before the last was uttered, both Badger and Conley came rushing out of the inner cellar. The two men instantly guessed the meaning of the brute’s actions, and both rushed toward the car. “Gone mad be hanged!” shouted Badger. “There’s something wrong with that hamper, not with the dog.” “That’s right, Amos,” yelled Conley. “Ah, I thought so! Get out, you brute, or I’ll brain you! What the devil have we here?” Badger had given the excited brute a second kick in the ribs, that once more sent him yelping out of doors, much to Patsy’s relief, despite the sudden change in the situation. At the same time Conley had thrown open the lid of the hamper, plainly disclosing the cramped detective to the view of all. In an instant both ruffians had him by the throat and wrists. “Hold on!” gasped Patsy, struggling to rise out of his cramped position, and at once assuming to be the injured, rather than the offender. “Come out here!” “Sure, I’ll come out,” whined Patsy, as he was yanked out upon the ground, yet still in the clutches of both men. “Say, this ain’t no way to use a fellow. Let go me throat, will you? I ain’t going to eat nobody up. Holy smoke! but I’m glad you drove that dog off. I thought I was a dead one, for sure.” “You’ll be a dead one, all right, young fellow, unless you stand up and give an account of yourself,” Badger fiercely cried. “Hang onto his arms, there, Conley, in case he means mischief. Hand me that strip of rope, Vic, and I’ll make him fast in a jiffy. Look lively, I say!” While this exchange of conversation was in progress, Patsy had been jerked rudely to his feet, only to find for several moments that he could hardly stand erect, so strained and cramped were his muscles. Conley, meantime, had twisted the captive’s arms back of him, and was holding them there with the grip of a vise. Badger had released Patsy’s throat, however, and, with the piece of rope Vic Clayton had hurriedly brought him, he quickly secured the detective’s arms and wrists behind him. “Now, you give an account of yourself,” he fiercely commanded, shaking his clenched hand under Patsy’s nose. “Sure I will, mister, since I’m caught in my own box,” Patsy now said, surveying with a ludicrous grin the frowning faces around him. “But I’d have been out and away long before this, mister, if it had not been for that infernal dog.” “Out and away, would you?” cried Badger, catching up this one significant remark. “That’s what, mister.” “What were you doing in that hamper?” “Only stealing a ride.” “Stealing a ride?” echoed Badger incredulously. “That was all, mister, the whole business.”